


In Our Bones

by feyreofthewildfire



Series: In Our Bones [5]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Final Installment, This is trash, but I'm okay with that, enjoy, i don't really control the muse, idk - Freeform, it controls me, probably, really - Freeform, we'll see, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyreofthewildfire/pseuds/feyreofthewildfire
Summary: Nesta’s world stops spinning with that question, the one that had loomed over her for so long. She’d spent so much time mulling over it, debating whether the snipped string inside her was the bargain that had once been or… or a broken mating bond.-The final (maybe) installment of the In Our Bones AU where Nesta finds peace.(Must read all other fics before this one in series to understand)





	In Our Bones

**Author's Note:**

> 1) wow! this has been a rollercoaster. i'm so excited to close this chapter of this au. there's room for a continuation, perhaps in the future, but for now this is the end. i think i might cry.  
> 2) this was written over the course of twelve hours. if it is utter trash, i apologize  
> 30 thanks you so much for sticking it out with me

“Fionn!”

Nesta’s voice rings through the corridor, her skirts fanning out around her as she stalks through the halls of the townhouse, worry coating the two syllables. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. She could’ve sworn she heard his voice near the living areas.

Turning at the sound of a small, childish giggle behind her, she spots a winged toddler hiding around the corner of the kitchen. Blue-grey eyes stare at her, wide with delight and wonder. A sigh escapes her, along with any and all anger she could’ve possessed.

The squeal he lets out when she picks him up makes her smile, the wings on his back fluttering with his delight and nearly causing her to drop him to avoid the small talons on the bottom. He had yet to figure out the two extra appendages, but Cassian had assured her that he would in due time. It was just part of being an Illyrian.

“Don’t _ever_ run off like that again, Fi.”

Her son ignores the command—snuggling his face into her shoulder and wrinkling the fabric of her dress in between his chubby fingers. It was supposed to be for the event tonight, but it seemed that she’d have to take it off and have Cerridwen get out the creases her son was putting in it.

Just as Nesta looks up, a breathless Cassian rounds the corner. He relaxes as soon as he sees the child bundled in her arms, then tenses once again. “Ididn’tmeantolosehim.” The words jumble out of his mouth, hands already in the air in surrender.

With a roll of her eyes, she beckons her husband over, leaning up and dropping a kiss on the side of his mouth. “I know.”

The relieved _whoosh_ that leaves his mouth makes her want to laugh. He was just lucky that he hadn’t found her before she’d found Fionn. Then, perhaps, she would’ve reprimanded him.

But her now-drooling son is cradled in her arms and her equally as endearing husband stands before her, looking rather delectable in all of his glory, for once cleaned-up and groomed for the soiree tonight. Not that she minded him all rough and dirty. Not at all. Quite the opposite really.

An image of him—dirty leathers, rough hands—invades her thoughts, making her contemplate ditching the gathering altogether to answer her own question about that one spot on his right wing right next to—

The gurgling of her sleeping child stops that train of thought, along with the wicked grin that spreads across Cassian’s face. She shifts her weight between her legs. His eyes track the movement.

“This one’s important,” he reminds her. “If we ditch, Feyre will kill us.” Even as he says this, his tone is gravelly and even deeper than usual.

“You’re doing a very bad job of convincing me.” Nesta murmurs, grabbing the lapel of his jacket, not unlike one of Rhys’s, and pulling him closer with her free hand. Oh, Mother, he was downright sinful when he dressed up.

“One, our son is ruining your dress. Two, _you_ have to go, even though you don’t want to, and what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t accompany my beautiful wife?”

Wife. It had been almost a decade and she still wasn’t used to the title or the way her heart fluttered whenever he used it.

But today, the flutters are subdued by the icky feeling that had settled itself in her gut from the moment she’d awoken, brought back in full force with his reminder.

Her shoulders deflate and her grip falls from his jacket. “I don’t know if I can go back there, Cass.”

He snakes his arm around her waist and drops a kiss on both her head and Fionn’s. “You once walked into a room with the seven most powerful men in the world and persuaded all of them to your side. You’ve done it countless times since then.”

“I would credit that particular instance to Feyre.” She deflected, shifting what had become dead weight in her arms. It baffled her how he always seemed to get heavily in her arms the moment he fell asleep.

“You should change. I’ll put him down.” Cassian takes the sleeping child from her when she nods and adjusts him, large hand engulfing the back of Fionn’s head. He kisses her once before walking away, humming what she knows to be an Illyrian lullaby under his breath. It never fails to steal hers.

She sings it herself as she meanders back to their bedchambers, finding Nuala on the way and having her help her out of the stained dress. Nesta gives it a pitying stare once it’s on the ground, the wet stain on the shoulder almost making her sad. It was a beautiful piece of art, and to see it laid haphazardly on the ground almost hurt her.

The replacement dress she slips on is just as stunning though—if not more. The deep, wine red silk shimmers in the low light and the slit runs _just_ high enough to still be considered appropriate. Red jewels are added to the black ones already in her hair, scattered throughout the strands and not dissimilar to the shade of Cassian’s Siphons.

Luckily, she finishes just before the aforementioned male bursts in, stopping dead in his tracks, eyes widening. Even though she knows exactly what he’s thinking, she stills asks. “What is it?”

“You can’t wear that. I’ll have to fend off all the males and I’m only allowed to bring the fancy sword.”

An amused little scoff slips from her as she turns to face him, walking over and fixing the collar of his shirt, if only to hide the way her hands have begun to tremble. Just to torture him, she whispers into his ear, “You should see what I’m wearing underneath.”

She had adorned herself in little scraps of lace, if only to give her the bravado she’d need to get through the night. It also gave her the opportunity to revel in the struggle that happened on Cassian’s face.

“Let’s get through tonight, because this dress might not.” He replies, her toes curling in her shoes at his words. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understands that he’s only playing because she needs him to—needs the stability of him when she might come undone.

It had been so, so long since it’d happened. She’d forgotten the shape of his face, the exact shade of his hair, but the snipped, frayed thread in her soul still ached sometimes. She was afraid going back to Scythia would break her, no matter how happy and complete she was at home, in Velaris with her husband and son.

Cassian takes backs two steps away from her and out the door with a sweeping, ostentatious gesture that makes her laugh. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

* * *

 

For the first time in ten years, Nesta stumbles out of her winnow.

A multitude of smells both familiar and not assault her, the large pillars in the courtyard achingly familiar and yet just as many things have changed—the bushes that were once French lilac now rose, and the trees are groomed into a different shape than what she remembers.

As expected, people murmur and gossip as she walks in, the only thing grounding her being the light hand on her back that pushes her forward. She would not get through the night without him—this she is sure of.

Still, it baffles her that even surrounded by multiple High Lords and High Ladies alike, they choose to focus on her. While not exactly unfounded, she was, by far, not the most influential or well known Fae in the ballroom tonight. Not even the most interesting, given the only difference in her appearance were her pointed ears.

An older Vassa greets her off to the side, the years not yielding any of her youth. Lines have started to appear in the Queen’s face, and age makes itself apparent. Nesta hadn’t seen her in person since the end of the war a decade ago, and her heart aches. Soon, Vassa will be gone and she will be the same. It’s a sobering thought.

The two had become close friends through letters over the years, and the physical presence of her friend was relieving. She would make it through the night. She had to. Steeling her spine, Nesta raised her chin and settled into that old mask that had both aided and destroyed her not so long ago.

“He would be so proud of you, Nesta,” Vassa supplies, taking both of Nesta’s hands in her own for a few moments. Her eyes well up, tears gathering as she shuts her eyes and takes a breath. She can’t cry. She won’t.

Vassa leaves soon after, citing that she must play hostess. Nesta turns to her husband, resting her hands on his chest, damning any and all etiquette. No one in their right mind would reprimand them anyways.

“Thank you for dealing with this,” she sighs.

Cassian takes both of her hands in his and kisses the back of each one once. “I know what he was to you. That doesn’t fade, even with time.”

She tilts her head forward until it meets his chest, leaning most of her weight on him as he drops her hands and wraps his own around her. Timing her breath to the slow, steady beat of his heart calms her—tensed muscles relaxing, tears receding. She leans up and presses a soft kiss to his lips, mindful of the lipstick she’s wearing. It’s a little easier to laugh as she wipes some of the residues from his lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry, but are you Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta turns away from where she’d been speaking to Elain, ready to tell off whoever had spoken to her. She was in no mood for socializing, and the timid tone told her it’d likely be another person who wanted to praise her for her actions during the war, although she’d barely done anything useful. She’d spent most of it locked in her own room, trying to fix the hole in her heart.

Instead, she was assaulted by a pair of all-too-familiar blue eyes.

It’s impossible to stop the gasp of horror that rattles her. It takes her far too long to realize that the person in front of her is indeed not him, but rather a woman who looks far too much like him. The dress she wore was rather mundane at an event full of sovereigns and High Lords. She was not.

“Oh, Cauldron, I-I didn’t mean to startle you, “ the woman stutters. It was interesting that she had used a Fae swear instead of the mortal one. Everything about this woman was strange. “My name is Hala. Ahlafares.”

Nesta’s eyes widen with realization, everything clicking into place.

_I’ll take you out west one of these days, then we’ll go down south and I’ll introduce you to my mother and sisters._

She whips her head around, watching for wandering eyes before she gently grabs Hala’s wrist and pulls the young woman into a secluded corner, away from prodding eyes and meddling people.

One look at those piercing blue eyes and tears began to well in her eyes once again, nearly ruining the black kohl she’d painstakingly drawn on. “You look just like him.”

Hala hesitantly reaches out and rests her hands on Nesta’s biceps, but does no more. She’s glad. Any more and she might break.

Nesta dabs at her eyes, “How’s your family? A-are you doing alright?”

“We’re getting by. Vassa takes care of us. But, uh, actually, I came to ask you something.”

“Of course.”

“Were you and my brother mates?”

Nesta’s world stops spinning with that question, the one that had loomed over her for so long. She’d spent so much time mulling over it, debating whether the snipped string inside her was the bargain that had once been or… or a broken mating bond.

She’d torn herself to pieces trying to find the answer, flying through books and asking countless questions to both her mated sisters, unsure of what exactly she wanted to answer to be even as she chased after it.

It’d take years for her to finally admit it to herself.

“Yes.”

Hala’s shoulders fall—with disappointment or relief, Nesta can’t tell. She doesn’t know the woman who stands before her. He’d always described has as his baby sister, the one who asked him for help with her schoolwork and pestered him to do fire tricks for her.

Hala slips a ring off her finger, holding it out to Nesta. “I know that you’re married now, and I respect that, but he would’ve wanted you to have this.”

Her hands shake as she takes the ring, only able to stare at it. It’s an intricate piece—a round cut white diamond flanked on both sides by three rubies each, each a different cut; pear, marquis, and then round again on the outermost jewel. The band’s yellow gold and it’s utterly perfect.

“It’s been passed through the family for a long time. You’re, you know, technically not family, but it was his to give away. He would’ve given it to you.”   

Tears slide freely down her face, the facade she’d been putting on since the moment she’d landed on this damned continent shattering into pieces. It takes her a few moments to get the ring on, but she eventually slides it onto her right hand, opposite the stunning black diamond Cassian had given her.

Nesta’s eyes slide over Hala, finally taking her in. She was not the twelve year old he had told of fondly, but a young woman. In fact, she almost looked older than Nesta herself. It was a harrowing thought.

She reaches back and pulls three of the ornamental pins in her hair, an authentic black pearl set in each one. It had been so long since she’d dealt in the human realms that she no longer remembers the exact value of them—only that it was steep. She holds them out to Hala.

“Take these. Save them for until you need them.”

The Airaibik woman takes the pins tenderly, hiding them away in her own updo. Smart.

“If you ever need anything, do not be afraid to write. Your family has the full support of the Night Court, and should you ever need sanctuary, my home is open. Anyone of the Ahlafares Family, whether tomorrow or five hundred years from now, is welcome.” Nesta tells her, taking both of Hala’s hands in her own and holding them tight—not too tight, though. As tight as she’d once held his own fragile, mortal hands.  

A choked sob escapes Hala’s throat.

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Nesta had spent most of that night with Hala, exchanging stories and crying through old grief. Cassian, at one point, had come over in concern and she’d been able to introduce them. Hala had been nothing short of kind, and for that she was grateful.

A strange, new acceptance had settled within her, her breathing a little easier than it had been before. Hala had given her a location to send letters to, and so she had kept a correspondence with someone she now easily considered her sister. To have a constant reminder of him hadn’t hurt for a long time—but now it felt _good_.

“Mama?”

Her eyes fall down to the toddler tugging at her skirts, wings fluttering behind him. Wide eyes stare up at her. Nesta only smiles, picks up her son and sets him on her lap, mindful of the wings.

“What is it, Fi?”

All she gets in return is little, rambling babbles. At just over a year old, he has yet to start forming actual sentences. Still, the day Cassian had cried because he’d called him ‘Dada’ had been rather unforgettable. In fact, she dreaded the day when she would send him off to an Illyrian camp. It had been something she and Cassian had spoken about early in her pregnancy, and the decision had been made with only a few qualms.

Nesta hums her agreement as she writes letters, adding in small phrases to keep Fionn talking. Feyre had told her to value the days when they could only speak in babbles—little Stella had picked up on far too many curse words from her Uncle Cassian and Aunt Mor. As much as it stressed Rhys out, Feyre only laughed. For her mate’s sake, of course.

Cassian and herself had finally moved out of the townhouse and into their own place—a nice, cozy home on the outskirts of Velaris. Like the townhouse, it was perched on a mountain, but it was _theirs_. Fionn had adjusted with ease and the move had been relatively painless.

The letter she’d been writing to the Winter Court, however, was rather painful and finally finished—just in time for Cassian to burst into her study. Sometimes she wondered if he even had a job, considering how often she found him simply wandering around or pestering her.

She supposed that, in a time of peace, he wasn’t as needed. Hopefully, the peace lasted for a long time. Not having to share her husband with Rhys or worry about whether he’d come home was a weight off her shoulders. The second war with the mortal queens had been hard on them—and that was _before_ they were married and had a son.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he greets. Nesta only signs the Winter Court letter and slides it away so that it can dry, pulling an empty paper from the corner of her desk to respond to Hala’s latest letter. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m working,” she retorts, though she can’t keep the smile off her face. “And I’m watching our son. Which was your job for today.”

Cassian had just gotten back from a routine visit to the Illyrian camps—one that had taken him away from her for a week. Usually, he took the first day back off and relaxed before having to settle into his own study and do whatever menial tasks were required of him.

He shrugs helplessly, “He’s a mama’s boy. Can’t blame him; she is absolutely breathtaking.” As he speaks he waltzes over, leaning against the side of the comfy armchair she sits in—it was the same one that she used to sit in in his study. Nesta had stolen it from his study for her own and had no intention of returning it. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re such a charmer,” she drawls, even as she has to pull Fionn’s reaching fingers away from the ink pot. After safely moving it to the far corner, she speaks again. “What’re the plans for tonight?”

He leans down and gently noses her shoulder—the simple, wide-necked dress she’d opted for that day aiding him in his little venture. She tilts her head to the side as he speaks, “Dinner’s in the oven—that’s how I lost the little one. After that, I plan on peeling this dress off of you.” A little sigh escapes her, “Very. Slowly.”

“The little one is right here,” she chastises, though doesn’t stop him as he trails kisses up the side of her neck. “I’d be mindful of what you say around him. Poor Stella’s already picked up a few bad words from her uncle.”

“He’s young. Doesn’t know what’s going on yet.”

His argument is aided by the gurgling child in her lap, completely oblivious to the rather inappropriate conversation his parents are having right in front of him. Nesta snakes an arm around Cassian’s neck, gently keeping him where he is. A pleased little hum from him vibrates against her throat.

“I have to write back to Hala and respond to the Autumn Court. Eris is being unpleasant again, and I don’t want to have to make an in-person visit to scare him into compliance.”

His motions stop and his head drops onto her shoulder. “Well, that’s certainly one way to kill the mood.”

She laughs and her arm drops, hands coming down to, instead, comb through the curly haired locks of the toddler in her lap. He’d gotten his father’s hair, of course. Cassian claimed that it wouldn’t start to straighten out until adolescence, despite her skepticism.

Part of her almost wished his hair was still curly, if only so that it would hold together better when she braided it. The look he’d given her when she’d said that one night was priceless.

“Go check on dinner, and take Fionn with you. Don’t lose him this time.” She teased, watching as he picked their son up off her lap and settled him on his hip, as far from Cassian’s wings as possible, which were pulled close together likely from trauma.

The last time Cassian had let him get too close… Well, it’d taken a few hours and one of his Siphons before she’d finally managed to heal the scratches. It hadn’t helped that it had happened right before nail-clipping day.

Cassian presses another kiss to her temple before beginning to walk backward towards the door with that infamous swagger, managing to look like a mischievous teen whilst holding a babbling toddler. “I’ll see you in a bit, sweetheart.”  

His steps are easy and assured as he salutes her once before disappearing into the hall, whistling a tune that has Fionn squealing with delight.

The smile on her face goes from timid to full-blown.

 

* * *

 

“I found her, Mom.”

Nesta looks up at the distress in her son’s voice, noting the way he leans heavily against the doorway of her study. His curly hair never straightened out, unlike what Cassian had claimed, and the wings were out in full force—not hidden away with the magic from her side, or whatever was left of it that he’d gotten. They were still figuring that out.

“Found who?”

“My mate.”

Every part of her freezes for a second, those two words bringing her back to a time over two decades ago. She clears her throat, standing from where she was sat behind her desk and putting her hands behind her, if only to hide their trembling. All these years later, and yet they still shuddered.  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“She’s Autumn Court. And engaged. Oh, and don’t forget about the part where she’s the daughter of Eris Vanserra.” Bitterness coats every word, growing thicker and thicker with each one he spits out.

“And?”

“And I want her anyways.”

Nesta sighs and walks over to her son, reaching up and cradling his face in between her hands. Mother, he had gotten so tall. Where had the years gone?

Instinctually, she brushes away a stray curl, as if he’s still five years old. “You’re not wrong for wanting your mate, Fi. Calida Vanserra is a strong, good-willed woman born into a family we have tenuous ties with. Eris is not as awful as he was fifteen years ago, nor is he anywhere near as atrocious as his predecessor.”

“I think you missed the engaged part.”

“Forcefully. By her father, who does not know any other way. Do not mistake silence for acceptance or compliance.”

“Even if she did accept me, there's no way we could make it work. Not with her dick of a father.” Fionn sighs, bitterness and anger turning into weariness.

“Eris is not as awful as you make him out to be. The Cauldron works in mysterious ways. I would know—I went inside it.”

He groans, “I _still_ can’t believe that you and Aunt Elain joke about that. It barely been thirty years.”

“Don’t deflect. We were talking about your mate. When did the bond snap in place, anyway? The last Assembly was over four months ago.”

“...Dad and I may or may not have actually gone to the Day Court yesterday to visit Helion instead of checking on the Illyrian camps.”

Despite becoming a father of three, Cassian hadn’t slowed down one bit. If anything, he’d started to go faster if only to keep up with the kids. Nesta kept telling him to slow down and he simply refused to. She couldn’t blame him, truly. It was in his nature and one of the many, many reasons she loved him.

“Of course you did,” she sighs. “She was there, I presume?”

“You presume correctly. She winnowed in on accident after some sort of incident in the Autumn Court. Somehow, I became her tour guide for day. I escorted her to her room for the night and then it snapped in. Just like that.”

“What’re you going to do about it?”

“Well, there’s a few things. I could pull an Uncle Rhys and not tell her but flirt relentlessly, or I could pull a Lucien and blurt it out at the most inconvenient time. Lots of good examples.” The sarcastic bite of Fionn’s tone isn’t exactly unfamiliar—somehow, her cold demeanor and Cassian’s humor had morphed into the most sarcastic child out of the entirety of the Inner Circle—but the sadness and distress accompanying it is.   

“Mating bonds aren’t easy, and sometimes they don’t turn out, but they are always worth fighting for. Aunt Elain and Lucien tried for a long time, and when it didn’t work they went their separate ways. You can’t tell me that Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys aren’t the most disgusting couple you’ve ever seen.”

“What about your mating bond, Mom?”

A new layer of grief washes over her, posture deflating at the reminder of the frayed string that still exists inside of her. Nightmares no longer plague her, nor does regret, but sometimes she’ll see something and it’ll remind her of him. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it once had, but it always will. Of this, she is sure.

Nesta had loved and cared _so much_ for her son’s namesake, only to have him ripped away from her.  Still, the bond had been there when she needed it, even unrealized. It had brought her home from the dark place she’d receded into and steadied her on the worst days without her knowledge.

“I wouldn’t have changed any of it.”

* * *

 

*The ring is based off of [this one](https://www.catbirdnyc.com/media/catalog/product/m/a/marietta-s1.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> hypothetically speaking, if i wrote a multi-chap fic on fionn and calida, how many of you would read it? hypothetically  
> -  
> come scream at me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> kudos and comments give me the motivation to get through the piles of homework and write! warning: i tend to word vomit in my responses  
> have a lovely, lovely day!


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